


pulling your puzzles apart

by purple_cube



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rebellion and war force Gale to change his opinion of many people. Johanna Mason is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pulling your puzzles apart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a request on Tumblr for Johanna/Gale and the line "are you flirting with me".

 

 

His priority had been to make sure that Mellark was still alive – for Katniss. Once he was satisfied that he could still see the boy’s chest rise and fall in unsteady breaths, Gale had left and joined in on the sweep around the remaining cells.

 

He stops in the doorway when he spots another member of the rescue team struggling to release the shackles that hold a frail, barely covered body to a wooden table. “Help me.”

 

And so he does, wrestling with the chains as he steals a look at the prisoner. She stirs, her clean-shaven scalp lolling to one side to reveal a deep gash just above her right ear.

 

“You’re okay, you’re fine,” he chants over and over again as she opens her eyes.

 

She must know who they are, because she breaks out into hoarse laughter that sounds painful to his ears. “Are you flirting with me?”

 

He doesn’t respond, loosening the last of the chains and lifting her weakened body into his arms. She weighs less than Vick did the last time they had been goofing around in 12, and thinks about how fundamentally wrong that is.

 

It’s only when they’re back on the hovercraft and Boggs checks in with Control that he realizes who the rest of the prisoners are. He stares back at the infirmary area, not quite believing that it’s _Johanna Mason_ back there.

 

*

 

They’re in District 13 the next time that she asks him. He overhears her making a comment about children playing at war to Haymitch as they walk back from lunch, and whirls around to glare at her.

 

“Because you did so well against the Capitol before we came along,” he spits out. “Tell me, how many of you _victors_ bothered to stand up to Snow before Katniss got reaped?”

 

Haymitch scoffs. “Stand down, boy. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

Johanna, however, merely raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You really think the Mockingjay is responsible for all this?” She holds her hands out to point to their surroundings. “13’s always been here, as has the rebellion, _Soldier_. But sometimes you need a spark to light up the asses of those who are too chicken-shit to make a stand.”

 

He’s about to reply when Haymitch steps forward to grab his arm. “Let…it…go.”

 

Much later, after he watches Odair’s propo and realizes the true nature of the victors’ _responsibilities_ in the Capitol, he knocks on the door to her compartment.

 

“She’s not here,” Johanna tells him bluntly when she opens the door to find him leaning against the frame.

 

“I’m not here for Katniss.”

 

Glancing behind, he waits for the sound of passing footsteps to fade before brushing past her.

 

“Let yourself in, why don’t you,” she mutters. Still, she shuts the door behind her, and he figures that if she really is that unhappy then she certainly wouldn’t be shy in telling him.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Johanna simply gives him a bored look. “What for?”

 

“I saw the propo that Odair made. And Haymitch had a few words.”

 

At that, a flash of anger crosses her expression. “He had no right –“

 

“He didn’t give me any details,” Gale interrupts quickly. “Just reminded me of something you said in the arena. About Snow not being able to hurt you because there was nobody left that you loved.”

 

She raises her chin defiantly. “How do you know that I didn’t just say it for the cameras?”

 

He shrugs. “I’d like to think that I know you better than that by now.”

 

That earns him a coy smile – far from genuine, he knows, but a welcome sight nonetheless. A smiling Johanna Mason is far less intimidating than a fuming one – but, as the Games showed, no less deadly.

 

“Are you flirting with me, Soldier Hawthorne?”

 

His mind’s eye conjures up an image of an emaciated, near-broken body that had felt feather-light in his arms. He wonders if she remembers him, remembers saying those words, or if this is just another component of her multilayered armor.

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Soldier Mason.”

 

*

 

One of the aspects Gale loves most about his government job is that it sends him the furthest corners of Panem. Seeing the struggle for survival after the war is hard, but not any harder than living through that same struggle in 12. And at least now, he’s in a position to do something to help others – something that he has to remind himself every time Heavensbee comes up with another poorly thought-out idea for his ‘documentaries’. 

 

So it surprises him that it takes two years and four visits to District 7 before he finally runs into Johanna Mason. The opening of the new lumber mill is the perfect opportunity to film some of the more ‘authentic’ rebuilding projects that Plutarch seems so keen on, and Gale lets his camera team run loose for most of the day, telling them to use their own initiative on what to record. But his presence is mandatory at the evening celebrations, and he sips his wine slowly as he glances around the room, looking for company.

 

“Well, don’t you scrub up nice…”

 

He turns to find familiar brown eyes traveling the length of his body, taking in his appearance from head to toe, and back up again.

 

“Johanna.”

 

“ _Gale_.” She says his name as if she’s testing it on her tongue, leaving the tip exposed between her teeth when she finishes.

 

“How have you been?”

 

She holds her arms out before bowing slightly. _No, not a bow. A curtsey_. It’s an old word, from before the dark days, but is only just resurfacing, along with so many other historical details that Snow had kept hidden in sealed vaults in the Capitol.

 

“You tell me. How do I look?”

 

It’s a challenge, an invitation to evaluate her in the same way that she had judged him.

 

It’s an invitation that he can’t refuse.

 

He takes his time, letting his gaze linger on the way a thin strip of fabric snakes around her neck before dropping to join the horizontal edge of her dress at her chest, exposing the shoulders. From there, it cascades loosely to her waist, where it is tucked tightly against her body before numerous tendrils of curled material fall to the floor.

 

“Nice dress.”

 

He can only watch as she steps forward and raises her palm to place it against his chest. “Would it look better on your floor?” she asks before biting her lip in mock-innocence.

 

He laughs, bringing his hand up to cover hers. “Are you flirting with me, Ms. Mason?”

 

“That depends on what your answer is.”

 

He examines her expression for a moment, wondering if she wants the same thing that he does. “They gave me a room in the Justice Building,” he reveals quietly.

 

“Then what are we waiting for?”

 

Neither of them hides that fact that they’re leaving the celebration so early – or that they’re leaving together.

 

When they get to the room that has been designated to him, she tells him it’s the most luxurious room in the building – and then laughs loudly at his surprise. “You’re a very important person now, Soldier Haw –“

 

“I’m not a soldier anymore.”

 

She steps closer, standing tall as she eyes him. “Got bored of that particular game, did you?”

 

“I was never playing a game. And I was wrong to say what I did about you,” he adds a moment later, in a softer voice. “I already apologized for that.”

 

“You did,” she concedes.

 

“So, are we gonna spend the evening hashing out old arguments, or can we find something better to do?”

 

She gives him that same bashful look that would only fool someone who didn’t know a single thing about her. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Hawthorne?”

 

This time, he is the one to step closer, forcing her to tilt her head upwards to maintain eye contact.

 

“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

 

She only just manages the slightest shake of her head before his lips come crashing down on hers. Her hands fly into his hair to drag him closer at the same time that his fingers snake along her exposed back and pull her body flush against his.

 

They fuck right there on the floor, in the same way that they had exchanged words – battling for the upper hand, willing to give one another only an inch before wrestling back control.

 

Later, when she reaches up to drag a blanket from the couch to cover their bodies, he loops an arm across her waist and pulls her to him.

 

She snorts. “I’m really not the cuddling type, Hawthorne.”

 

“Neither am I,” he responds lazily, eyes drifting shut. “I’m just using you for your body heat.”

 

He feels her slowly relax into his embrace. “Good to know.”

 

When he wakes after an hour, his body is sore from sleeping on the hard floor. In his arms, Johanna has turned to face him and is tracing haphazard patterns on his shoulder with a solitary finger. Her expression is unguarded, something that he thinks he’s probably seeing for the first time.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

“Nothing,” he lies, before adding, “I should probably get back to the party. You can stay here as long as you want though.”

 

They dress silently, pretending not to notice the looks that they both steal at one another. She follows him to the door, holding it ajar as he steps into the hallway.

 

“Look me up next time you’re in 7?”

 

It’s a casual request, but far more than he had expected from her.

 

“I will,” he promises, surprising even himself when he realizes that he means it.

 

 


End file.
